


Runs in the Family

by Mental_Kitten



Series: RitF [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Canonical Child Abuse, Covenants, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magical Realism, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paganism, Past Child Abuse, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Witchcraft, attempt at fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mental_Kitten/pseuds/Mental_Kitten
Summary: Tommy doesn't fit in on his dad's side of the family. He didn't get a chance to meet his mum's.Once his dad's killed in a car accident, his world gets turned upside down.---someone remind me to fix the summary l8r bc it sucks atm
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, if you ship minors or irl people, just know that i fucking hate you
Series: RitF [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141844
Comments: 129
Kudos: 348





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i said i was gonna and here i fucking am 
> 
> i want to make the chapters longer than problem child so that i have an excuse to not update as often

The clouds outside of his window made him feel so small. The worker who escorted him to the airport had warned him that it was best if he tried to get some sleep on the ride over. He didn’t listen, his ears still ringing from the news he had been given. It felt like he was walking in some sort of dream-like trance still. 

He was an orphan. 

It still felt weird to think about. It still felt surreal, even though it was the only thing on his mind for the past few hours. He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes for all he knew. The only thing he did know was that he could see that the plane was finally getting above a stretch of land, which meant that they were going to be landing soon. He was told that his uncle lived near the coast. 

He wasn’t quite sure what that meant. 

The concept was wild to him, honestly. He was shoved onto a plane for who knows how long to go live with an uncle he had never met. Because the family he  _ did _ know didn’t want him. It wasn’t his fault that he was a bastard. Or that his dad acted the way he did. It was probably his fault that his mom left, though. From what he heard, his uncle was supposed to be her brother.

If he was anything like his sister, Tommy would be shipped back to Brighton in less than a week. He was expecting to be, at the very least. How could a man he had never met even  _ think _ that taking him in was a good idea? He was basically a stranger. Not that his dad’s side of the family was much better. They were very traditional, with more of a ‘children are meant to be seen’ mentality. 

He wouldn’t particularly miss his Gran spanking him for being too loud during family gatherings, though. He learned the hard way that growing taller than her wasn’t a deterrent. If anything, it made her more hostile. Like a chihuahua. 

He snorted at the thought. It was pretty accurate, actually. He didn’t know much of his mom’s side of the family, but most of the women on his dad’s side could be described as such. Little women that wanted to beat his ass. Which could describe most of his extended family, actually. 

Hopefully this guy wouldn’t be falling into that category. 

\---

Tommy was learning quickly that his ears apparently didn’t like to pop. He had managed to chew on a piece of gum he had been offered from the social worker that drove him to the airport, but he could only slam his teeth together so hard before he just made something else hurt. Honestly, it sucked. It wasn’t like it would be his last time on a plane with his fucking luck. 

He had gathered his suitcase and his backpack, dragging them over to the counter with a lady behind it. She would have to know something about where he was supposed to wait. Which she apparently didn’t, seeing as she just looked at him like he sprouted a second fucking head. What she did do, however, was make a fucking  _ annoucement _ to the  _ entire fucking gate _ about him. 

He could feel his face burning in shame as pretty much every pair of eyes in the goddamn vicinity turned to pierce him. Fuck, why did Americans suck at their jobs? He wasn’t one to agree with his father about much, but that was something he was going to swear by if they kept that shit up. 

A security guard who was trying his best to be polite eventually came and led him past the woman’s desk and the death contraption further beyond that seemed to be where passengers were being searched for contraband. They were stripping themselves of their possessions like they were going to fucking  _ jail _ . Why on Earth would that be a fucking  _ thing _ ?

Whatever the large man was trying to say to him, he pretty much blocked out. His main focus was keeping up with the fucking meatwall while lugging his shit behind him. The guy  _ had _ to be seven feet tall. If he wasn’t a security officer at the fucking Orlando airport, he would’ve been scared shitless to pass the guy on the street. 

Actually, no. He would still be scared shitless if he had to pass the guy on the street. He just gave off an air of danger. Which was probably because he looked like Tommy’s dad. Which was a problem he was going to  _ ignore _ . 

The guy stopped suddenly enough that Tommy almost bumped into him. Which was good, since a deep breath from the fucker could probably knock him on his ass. He looked like the kind of guy who could crack walnuts with his thumb.  _ Just _ his thumb. 

“Is that your dad?” The guy sounded like how Tommy imagined a grizzly to sound. He followed the man’s finger, pointing at a man that definitely  _ looked _ like someone he was related to. 

The guy had the same color of hair, and he could tell from far away that his eyes were the same kind of vibrancy as his own. His mother’s side must’ve just been like that, since everyone on his father’s side was a brunette giant with either brown or darker brown eyes. Sometimes triple brown. 

“Uncle.” He corrected, shifting the weight of his bag on his shoulder. The guy looked pretty normal, and was holding a make-shift stationary paper sign with his name on it. His  _ full _ name. He wasn’t sure how many Americans had fucking ‘Innit’ as a middle name. 

The bear man just nodded at him, and moved aside so that he could get to the older blond easier. He took a deep breath, and made his way towards the guy. He could practically  _ hear _ the gears turning in his head when they made eye contact. 

“Holy shit!” The guy spat, staring at him like the woman had. Like he was out of place. Which he was. It didn’t mean he wanted to be fucking ogled for it. His uncle was definitely  _ also _ British, which was weird. He was expecting his estranged uncle from a different continent to not sound like the rest of his relatives. 

Tommy made a face, but didn’t respond until he was closer. He wasn’t going to go about shouting in fucking public. If his uncle was already like the rest of them, he knew to tread lightly. He hiked his bag higher on his shoulder, plastering a fake as shit smile on to greet the guy he was supposed to be living with. 

“Hello! You must be Phil.” The fake formality made him feel like he was trying to shotgun a cup of cotton balls, sticking to the sides of his tongue and clogging his throat. Fuck, he hated how little he knew about this guy. He was told that he was the brother to his mum, and that was  _ it _ . No, he was also told he lived in America. Which was the explanation he got for as to why he was being shoved into a plane at the ass-crack of dawn. 

All he knew is that it was dark when he got on the plane, and it was dark when he got off of it. Not that the fluorescent lights of the airport weren’t  _ charming _ . It was just that he was squished into a window seat for a plane ride that was apparently about seven fucking hours. Without  _ sleeping _ .

“Holy shit.” Was the response he got again, though it was a bit quieter this time. Which was nice since his ears still  _ refused to fucking pop _ . “You- Shit, dude. Tommy?” 

Tommy wasn’t sure how he was expected to fucking  _ respond _ to that. He was basically being sweared at by a stranger he was supposed to be sleeping in the house of for however long he was welcomed. 

“Shit- Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be- Yeah.” Apparently Tommy’s new uncle also couldn’t finish a fucking sentence. Which was concerning since he was probably going to be getting into a car with him.

“Okay.” Tommy knew that he had to respond when spoken to, even if he couldn’t decipher what the fuck was being  _ said _ to him. Fuck, did living in America make people illterate? 

“You must feel like  _ shit _ . You can sleep in the car, and we can hit fast food closer to home if you need to eat. We  _ have _ to get going, bud.” Phil was suddenly taking his suitcase from him and practically sprinting out of the building, which was impressive considering how short he was. What was it with people and making him sprint after them?!

_ Yeah _ he felt like shit! He was tired and fucking traumatized, and now he was chasing down his only blood relative that bothered taking responsibilty for him down a parking lot. Someone apparently threw their car in reverse and floored it, almost smashing him into the pavement. They had the  _ audacity _ to lay on the horn like he was somehow responsible for their lack of spatial awareness.  _ He _ wasn’t the one almost running over children. 

The air was nice and chilled compared to how stuffy the plane had been, so sprinting after his goddamn uncle in the parking lot actually gave him a chance to get some fresh air. Florida definitely smelled worse than Brighton, though. If he saw a corpse at any point, he would  _ not _ be surprised. 

Phil apparently drove a black truck that he looked comically small beside. A black truck that he was loading Tommy’s suitcase into the back of like it wasn’t the size of him. He had originally assumed that he had just been weak in comparison to his dad’s side of the family, but it turned out that he was a wimp on  _ both _ sides of the tree. 

It might’ve had something to do with his lack of activity. He did look like a fucking skeleton in comparison to most of his cousins his age. 

Phil seemed to have realized that he had caught up, and shot him a weak smile that was clearly forced. At least shitty formalities ran on both sides. It was nice to know that his ability to pretend to be friendly wouldn’t be going to waste in the presence of his new uncle. 

“Sorry mate! It’s almost nine, and I want to get home before midnight. We’re going to be cutting it close, but it should be fine.  _ If Wilbur’s off my fucking couch _ .” Phil probably didn’t direct the last bit at him, considering he had no idea who the fuck Wilbur was, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He just opened the back door and went to hop in.

It took him a second to realize why the seats were fucked up. He was in  _ America _ . They fucked their cars up. If he remembered correctly, they also drove the wrong way. Which was probably going to be easier to adjust to since he hadn’t actually learned to drive yet. 

“Tommy? You can- uh- You want the front seat?” Phil kept speaking to him like he had never met a fucking kid before. The man gave a half-hearted gesture at the passenger seat as he situated himself behind the wheel. By how much he jacked everything up, Tommy was becoming increasingly worried about his ability to drive. 

“Sure.” He didn’t want to seem  _ rude _ after all. Even if Phil wasn’t being as pushy as he would’ve expected, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to snap at some point. His Bible-thumping extended family always seemed to crack at some point when it came to dealing with him. 

But it wasn’t his fault! How was he supposed to know that twisting grass into weird shapes was fucking  _ satanic _ ? It was grass! Plus it was nice to leave flowers petals by his windowsill sometimes, since he was always convinced that it made the room smell better. Plus mud was fucking  _ great _ . Weaving particularly lengthy pine needles into his things was also a nice passtime. Not to mention fucking  _ candles _ .

He grimaced at the memories he was conjuring and instead tossed his bag haphazardly in the back, shutting the door as gently as he could. It wasn’t an  _ old _ truck. He would’ve been surprised if it was purchased more than a year ago. It also didn’t look  _ cheap _ , which made him nervous as fuck to be near it. Let alone sit in the fucking thing! 

Tommy managed to get up to the seat without having to hop like Phil had, which made him feel a bit less ridiculous. His new legal guardian seemed to notice his discomfort after he got himself situated in the oversized seat. 

“I hate Techno’s truck too. I just didn’t want to bring something too small in case you had more bags, ya’ know?” Phil was trying to make small talk, but who the  _ fuck _ was  _ Techno _ . It had to be some kind of fucking rental place, since anyone who willingly called themself something so stupid probably hated themself too much to try and leave the house. 

Tommy’s silence was soon filled by the sound of the engine. The boy was just starting to realize that Phil had told him that they were going to be in the car for the next  _ three hours _ . 

Hopefully it would be the extent of his travelling for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guess what kind of bird ozzy it 
> 
> trust me, it's super funny

Tommy wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep during the ride. What he  _ did _ know was that when he was awoken by the noise of the radio being turned, it was still dark as all hell out. But even in the absence of light, he could tell that the silhouettes were different. There were more patches of trees and shrubbery, and less buildings as they went. 

He watched the scene flying past his window for a bit, not wanting to let Phil know he was awake. He was sure that the man was pissed enough for how long he had to be in the car for him already.  _ Three fucking hours _ . The very idea of it made him queasy, and he was the one that had to take a plane. 

Maybe it was because riding in a car wasn’t as foreign, and it was harder to distance himself from what was going on around him. He could  _ easily _ imagine how close the bushes and stray weeds they drove past were. He could've guessed what it would’ve felt like to reach out and touch them. 

He couldn’t imagine what clouds would’ve been like. Probably more comfortable than the seatbelt he was trying to balance his neck on. It wasn't uncomfortable enough for him to stay awake for long. 

\---

Tommy woke up and basically blinded himself. The second he cracked his eyes open, the sun decided to burn his  _ fucking _ retinas out. He slapped a hand over his eyes, trying to figure out where the hell he was. Not being able to see was sort of fucking that up for him. 

Once he managed to blink most of the spots out of his vision, he realized that he was still in the truck. The sun had been bouncing off of the hood in a way that shined it directly into his goddamn pupils. Why was he even  _ in _ the car? Phil had made it sound like the ride would only be a few hours! 

Actually, where  _ was _ Phil? Once he actually managed to get a good look at his surroundings, he realized that he was all alone in the truck. His bag he remembered tossing into the back was even gone. He could also see that the windows were cracked, which was probably the only reason he hadn't fucking  _ suffocated _ . 

Did Phil really leave him to sleep outside all night? He wasn't technically outside, but he could've been kidnapped or something. He knew America was full of stealing kids and shit. It was one of the only things he knew about America. Which meant that it was probably true.

Tommy peeled himself out of the leather seat, grimacing at how his legs stuck to the seat. It was like his exposed skin had melted into the material over the night. The sun wasn't high enough in the sky for him to be roasting alive, or he was sure that he would've been drenched in his own sweat. 

He flicked the lock open and crawled out, frowning at how wet the ground underneath of him was. It was probably normal for a place that was next to an ocean, but it didn't mean he had to be happy about it. He was in canvas shoes, after all. He could feel them sopping up the moisture. 

Tommy slammed the door shut behind him, stretching his back out. He wasn't as concerned about being loud now that Phil wasn't nearby. Actually, he wasn't sure where Phil was. It would make sense if he was in the house the truck was parked in front of, but he also couldn't be sure. With his luck, he had already been dumped off on a stranger. Not that he knew Phil all that much, either. 

He was taking in the view of the light blue home when he heard what sounded like a fucking refrigerator being thrown down the stairs. He flinched away from the noise, finding himself less willing to go into the fucking building. There was also shouting from more than one person that followed the noise before the front door was literally kicked open. 

The guy standing in the doorway looked pissed. Tommy was lanky, but the brunette looked like a goddamn  _ skeleton _ . A skeleton who was now glaring at him. 

Once they made eye contact, the expression of barely-contained rage was quickly replaced by a smile that seemed too genuine for how fast it appeared. The guy's entire image was sending off red flags, actually. Tommy could feel the humidity building and he had barely been in the open air for more than a minute. Yet this guy was in a fucking sweater and jeans.

"You must be Tommy!" The skeleton man was also British, which was weird. Why would he know Phil? Or be in his  _ house _ ? Was he part of his mom's side of the family? He definitely was  _ built _ like Tommy, but he was also a brunette with brown eyes. Which was more likely to be from his dad's side. 

Maybe he was a distant cousin or something. 

"Did Phil leave you in the fucking car all night?" Judging by the sneer and the man's tone, skeleton man disapproved of it just as much as he did. Which was… nice?

"Yeah." Tommy felt a lot smaller all of a sudden, standing next to the oversized truck. He wasn't  _ short _ , but it was hard to keep his back straight when he felt like the growing heat was dissolving him. 

"Shit. That's fucking- Wait, did he tell you about me? Or Tech? Or that he wasn't going to _ be  _ here?" Skeleton man started to say something, before cutting himself off. He watched the guy lean against the door he has stormed out of a few minutes ago, titling his head like a dog. 

The smile had dropped into a blank expression as fast as the rage had dissipated, which was still fucking  _ creepy _ . 

Tommy shrugged, not wanting to continue speaking. The air must've dried his sinuses out overnight, because he sounded like a chainsmokers. He felt like it, too. His tongue was dry and words ached coming out. It was probably why people weren't supposed to sleep  _ outside _ .

"I guess you did pass out. He probably left you to sleep since you were on a plane for, like, a day." Skeleton man nodded like he had given a coherent answer, fully content in carrying the conversation. Which Tommy would've been fine with if it wasn't steadily getting  _ hotter _ out. 

"It wasn't that long." He corrected. According to the clocks he had seen when boarding and leaving, it had only been about seven hours. Skeleton man seemed to disagree, judging by the look he got. 

"It's thirteen hours from Brighton to Miami." He said it like it was something Tommy should've known. 

What he was being told didn't make sense for a few seconds as his brain fought through the kink in his neck and the humidity. They just stared at each other for a few moments as he worked out what that meant. Math was hard when he was tired and bad at math.

"Florida's five hours behind?" Fuck, did he really  _ stare into space _ for thirteen hours on a fucking plane yesterday? Some of it might've been sleeping, actually. But  _ still _ .

"Without any stops, yeah. But come get out of the sun before you burn." Thankfully the skeleton man had noticed how he was practically melting from the humidity. The temperature must've risen ten degrees since he fucking woke up! What sense did  _ that _ fucking make?

Tommy wasn't sure he wanted to go into the house considering he heard another crash. And more screaming. Skeleton man even seemed startled by the yelling. 

"I think Ozzy's having a shit-fit. He's probably just pissed that he's being kicked out of the spare room. Can you  _ believe _ that Phil was going to leave him in there with you?" Skeleton man flung the door open and started talking, wandering inside like he expected Tommy to follow. Which he did, since he clearly didn't stop talking. 

Who the  _ fuck _ was Ozzy? Who was  _ Tech _ ? How many people did Phil live with? Why did he just live with a bunch of grown men? 

Fuck, was Phil a  _ creeper _ ? That would make more sense as to why he was willing to take in a nephew he had never met. Tommy was suddenly aware of the fact that he couldn't do much if it  _ was  _ a house full of child molesters. He couldn't even drive! Let alone  _ backwards _ . 

"Tommy? You're allowed inside." Skeleton man called from further in, having left the door open. Something shrieked before he could form a response, followed by another crashing noise. 

" _ OZZY _ !  _ BUGGER OFF _ !"

\---

Ozzy was a bird. A very  _ large _ bird. He also didn't look anything like the cockatiels his great aunt had bred. Which didn't mean much, but it was pretty much the only bird he could identify. He had only seen them once when he was much younger, but he could remember that they didn't look like  _ that _ . 

The white chested bird  _ immediately _ started staring at him, apparently taking it's focus off of skeleton man. The brunette had gone further into the house, leaving him with the weird fucking bird staring down at him from where it was on the banister. Tommy was pretty sure that it was going to claw his fucking eyes out. 

As if responding to his thoughts, it tilted it's head and leaned forward like it was about to  _ dive _ . He didn't have time to try and get away from it before it opened its mouth and made a horrible noise at him. 

"I'm pretty sure Phil told him about you, so just ignore his bullshit. Birds are the fucking  _ worst _ ." Skeleton man reappeared with what looked like a family pack of cookies? "All I could find were Oreos, so we're just not telling Phil what I fed you for breakfast."

He must've mistaken Tommy's confusion for disgust, since he seemed ready to go back to what was probably the kitchen. He wouldn't know because he was scared to step  _ anywhere _ . 

There were stacks of books shoved against the walls, along with any flat surface scattered with random trinkets and pens. It looked like someone had tore out the spine of a thesaurus before whipping the pages around the fucking living room. The stairs weren't much better, especially since the bottom was crowded with what looked like a gathering of jars and containers full of random shit. 

There were also rocks scattered about. The colorful ones he used to get in trouble for playing with at stores. There was also  _ definitely  _ a giant fucking skull mounted above the couch. The smell of something that vaguely reminded him of Pinesol hanging in the air was the only thing that made the place seem livable. 

To be fair, he could see how much bigger the house was now that he was actually inside of it. If Phil was renting it, it would make sense that he lived with other people. Not that it explained why  _ Ozzy _ was fucking there. 

There was another slamming noise from the second floor, which made Tommy realize that they probably hadn't been coming from the bird. Ozzy even twisted around to face whoever was stomping down the steps. 

"Did you finish tagging everything? I have the scripts ready." There was some guy wandering down the stairs with a stack of papers and books high enough that his face was covered. He apparently didn't notice Tommy until he almost ran into him. 

"Wilbur, why is there a child?" The guy's monotone was eerily flat, and he shifted the books in a way that let him stare down at Tommy. His gaze was somehow more piercing than the bird's had been. He could've  _ swore _ his eyes looked red for a second. 

"This is Phil's nephew. Honestly, what's the point of a group text if you don't bother to fucking read it." Skeleton man was apparently named Wilbur. His comment was punctuated by an obnoxiously loud crunching noise. 

Tommy assumed that it was from the cookies. He couldn't tell, though. Not with the books guy looming over him like he was deciding whether or not he was a pest. He seemed to decide against murdering him, seeing as he shrugged and continued to the living room.

"I have more substantial things to be reading. I _also_ don't see a single tag on _anything_. If Phil comes home to a disaster, I'm throwing you under the bus." The guy went back to talking to Wilbur, who seemed preoccupied with scarfing down the cookies. The only real response he got was from the bird making another horrible noise. 

"I'm  _ serious _ , Wilbur. If the bird's the one that has to help me clean, I'm going to send everything you own to the bottom of the ocean." The threat sounded ridiculous, but the brunette paled and immediately began moving. They  _ were _ probably close enough to a beach that it wouldn't be  _ impossible _ to throw something into the sea. 

Wilbur also made it seem like it  _ wasn't  _ the first time it happened. 

It was kind of comical to see the grown-ass man trip over himself. It was  _ not _ as comical when the pack of cookies was haphazardly thrown at him without being shut. He thankfully managed to not dump the entirety of it, even though the two adults seemed too preoccupied to notice if he had. 

It seemed that the only form of supervision he currently had was the fucking bird. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiny chapter bc i got so fucking distracted and also like ???? brain go brr need to write angst and this happened but also mhm

“Can’t we make Tommy help?” Wilbur hadn’t stopped whining since the books man had made him help with whatever kind of cleaning involved sticky notes. Tommy had managed to get a better look at the other guy since he wasn’t hidden behind a bunch of stationary. 

He was tall like Wilbur, but his hair was lighter and didn’t sit the same way as Wilbur’s. They probably weren’t related. Which made his theory of Phil being in a weird, three person, gay relationship a bit more plausible. Which was  _ definitely  _ not something he wanted to be right about. 

The idea of the man he had to live with being in some weird orgy group relationship made him seriously reconsider the foster system. He did  unfortunately know of a lot of the horror stories about it. Hopefully he was wrong and Phil was just poor. 

“I’m all for child labor, Wil. But I’m not handing Phil’s  _ nephew _ a stack of transportation scripts. Would  _ you _ give Dream your guitar?” Book man apparently made his point despite how stupid his analogy was, seeing as Wilbur started to work a bit faster. Why would handing a guitar to a dream mean anything? Maybe it was some weird reference. Like Shakespeare. He definitely wouldn’t get a Shakespeare reference. 

“He’s Phil’s nephew! He’s probably great at this stuff. You’re good at spells, right Tommy?” Wilbur directed his whining at him, still dicking around even though he seemed to just be putting weirdly patterned sticky notes on things. 

“Excuse me?” Tommy was okay at  _ spelling _ , if that’s what he meant. Which was probably just some weird American slang the guy had picked up. Because there was no way he meant something else. A grown ass man talking about Harry Potter stuff like it was real was fucking  _ weird _ .

“If he’s a Watson, he probably does enchantments, you  _ cretin _ . Scripture spells aren’t common and you know that.” What the  _ fuck _ were they talking about? What was a cretin? Who the fuck was Watson?!

“You’re just pissed because you can’t quick cast. You hear that, Toms? Ol’ Technoblade here can’t quick cast.” Wilbur was acting like it was something he was supposed to know about. Which he  _ didn’t _ . 

“That’s lame.” So he pretended he did. Wilbur seemed to perk up at his half-assed agreement, so he assumed that he made the right choice. The other guy seemed a lot less amused. 

“He’s  _ clearly _ Phil’s.” The guy grumbled, turning himself away from them both in order to continue playing with the sticky notes. 

They had to be talking about some kind of game. It would make the most sense, because no one in their right mind would name their kid Technoblade. No one would  _ choose _ something that ridiculous as a nickname, either. Plus it made a lot more sense for them to be talking about something like World of Warcraft seeing as they were tossing around ‘spells’ and ‘enchantments’ so casually. 

“That’s what I’m saying! Watsons are good at magic. So we have Tommy help.” What the  _ fuck  _ was that supposed to mean?! Watsons were good at fucking  _ magic _ ? Tommy’s last name was fucking Evans. 

“We wouldn’t  _ need _ Tommy to help if you hadn’t been screwin’ around. This is completely your fault.” Hopefully he would find out the guy’s real name soon, because it would be weird to try and listen to someone he was supposed to be referring to fucking  _ Technoblade _ . 

\---

Watching the two grown ass men fighting like children was entertaining enough that Tommy didn’t realize that they had finished labelling their stuff until he was suddenly being redirected outside. Ozzy was apparently going as well, which was fucking weird. Technoblade, who had the dumbest nickname ever, had seemed pretty insistent that he and Wilbur had to finish cleaning before Phil got home. Standing on the porch wasn’t exactly cleaning. 

“Did you use the right ones? You know what happened the last time you tagged that jar wrong.” Techno had taken what looked like an old-ass notebook out with him. It was fucking leather bound by the looks of it. It looked like his grandfather’s bible he had apparently snagged during the Holocaust. 

He was always scared to ask grandpa Rodgers what side of the war he was on. He could’ve made an educated guess, but it was nicer to pretend he couldn’t. 

“Yes,  _ mum _ . I put your notes on the right shit. Now activate it already. I’m going to have to put  _ everything _ away once it’s back in my room.” Wilbur was whining again. He was quickly learning that he just did that. It was weird, since he never really interacted with adults that acted like that. 

Not that he had been missing out. 

“You would’ve had more time if you had tagged everything once I asked.” Technoblade hummed, his voice making it sound more menacing that he probably meant for it to be. Hopefully. 

Tommy didn’t have time to back away once the guy whipped out a fucking  _ switchblade _ . He watched him tuck the book under his arm, before slicing open his fucking palm like it was  _ nothing _ . He just about passed out when he realized that he was dripping his blood into the pages of his fucking book. Like some kind of fucking  _ satanic _ ritual straight out of a goddamn  _ horror movie _ . 

He apparently didn’t have enough in his stomach to actually puke, which he found out once he started to dry heave over the edge of the porch. The banister pressed into his gut was the only reason he hadn’t passed out into the shrubs he was heaving into.  _ What the  _ **_fuck_ ** _? _

“Tommy? You good?” Wilbur was suddenly at his side, chewing on the cookies he had retrieved at some point. Tommy didn’t remember dropping them. But he sure as shit wasn’t  _ holding  _ them. 

Did the asshole have to fucking  _ ask _ ? He was  _ puking _ into a fucking  _ bush _ . What about that would make it seem like he was  _ good _ . The spark of anger in his gut was the only reason he wasn’t actually screaming in terror. That, and he was busy retching like a cat with a hairball. 

Were they going to fucking s _ acrifice _ him? 

“Great.” He hissed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Wilbur nodded like he fucking  _ believed  _ him, even as the brunette watched him wipe his mouth on his sleeve. So apparently Phil’s potential roommates/lovers/companions were both fucking idiots.

His sulking was cut off by the sounds of what he could describe as an epileptic horse. It was big, loud, and was slamming off of probably every surface in the goddamn house. 

Wilbur and Technoblade both seemed mildly inconvenience by the sound of the house turning itself upside-fucking-down. The only one who seemed to not have their head up their ass was Ozzy, who was simply staring at him in a way that was very fucking creepy. He didn’t like birds. 

It must’ve only been a few minutes since the noises started, but they quickly stopped. As soon as the crashing had ceased, Technoblade threw the door open like he wasn’t terrified of whatever hell spawn he had summoned. His hand seemed to still be dripping blood as well. 

Tommy tried to look away as the droplets hit the floor, splattering against the wood in a way that seemed to ring in his ears. He never was too good with blood. 

“You coming, mate?” Wilbur’s voice broke the false silence that had wrapped around him. Ozzy made a grotesque bird noise as well, seemingly trying to get an answer of his own. 

Which was  ridiculous  since birds were very stupid. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically tommathy thinks he lives with crazy motherfuckers 
> 
> is he wrong? no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am dying so heres a shitty lil chapter bc ill be opening the next one with a thingy   
> source: just trust me bro

“What the fuck.” Was pretty much all Tommy could manage. He was standing in the doorway of the house. The one that had  _ just _ been a goddamn disaster. Everything could’ve used a duster and a good sweeping, but it looked  _ completely different _ from when he had just stepped outside. Their were also bits of ashes scattered where some parts of the mess used to be, as if it had fucking  _ vanished _ .

“Trust me, this is the extent of his ‘wow factor’.” Wilbur seemed oblivious to his distress, instead focusing on trying to pry open what looked like a container of cleaning wipes. He was failing miserably. Which would’ve been funnier if Tommy wasn’t  _ freaking the fuck out _ .

“How- What- The fuck  _ happened _ ?!” He couldn’t find the right phrasing as he struggled to cope with what he was looking at. Techno, who reappeared from upstairs with a bandaged hand, simply shrugged at him as he had a meltdown in the doorway. 

“I’m not happy about the ashes either. It was supposed to burn the trash  _ and  _ the paper up, but the paper must’ve caught.” What the actual  _ fuck _ was he being told?! 

Tommy, for once, was speechless. He couldn’t articulate a response to direct at  _ either _ of the men moving around the house. He could barely be bothered to acknowledge Ozzy, who seemed to be content to stare into his soul from his perch on the banister. 

He must’ve been hallucinating. There was  _ literally _ no other explanation for what was going on. It didn’t make any  _ sense _ . 

“Tommy? You good?” Wilbur has apparently managed to open the container. The artificial lemon stench and bleach mixture stung his nose, and made him seriously consider if he was having some kind of crazy fever dream. 

Maybe he died from suffocation in the truck. It made more sense than the house  _ magically cleaning itself _ . If Phil was the type of guy to leave a kid in the car, how far of a stretch was it to think that he would  _ also _ forget to leave the windows cracked? 

Being dead made a lot more sense than standing in a perfectly cleaned house after he saw the sheer fucking mess it had been less than three minutes prior. The bird made another noise at him, and he seriously considered seeing if he could try and will it out of his afterlife. It was  _ his _ death, and he wanted no birds!

"Tommy, you good? You've been glaring at Ozzy for five minutes." Wilbur was back in his face, looming over him like some kind of anemic scarecrow. Tommy blinked up at him, not liking how the few inches of difference between them made him feel so  _ small _ . 

"The fuck is all this?" He spat, choosing to be mad rather than scared of the weird-ass events going on around him. Wilbur backed away from him a bit, giving him a confused look. 

"I'm not sure of all the flowery language involved, but it's Techno's transport script we use to clean. I'm sure he'd be happy to teach you-" Tommy cut him off, feeling a headache starting as he tried to process the nonsense being thrown in his face. 

"The fuck does that even _mean_? You pull some magical fantasy shit and expect me to be all cool with it?" There was _literally_ no reasonable explanation for what the hell had gone on. If anything, Wilbur should've been freaking out just as much as he was. 

"You're a  _ Watson _ , and you're upset that we did magic?" Wilbur cracked a nervous smile, like he thought Tommy was making some kind of joke. Why would he be  _ joking _ . 

"The fuck does my last name have to do with anything? Why would I be okay with this shit-show?" He might've been getting louder. He didn't entirely care. 

Wilbur stared at him like he had said something  _ untrue _ . Which he didn't! Why would being a Watson excuse the sheer fuckery that was going on?! He went from dealing with the fact he was an  _ orphan  _ to dealing with the fact that he apparently had to live with crazy people and their magic tricks. 

"Are you telling me you don't know that you come from a line of  _ witches _ ?!" 

**Author's Note:**

> did i really not go to sleep, shit out a chapter in about 3 hours while dicking around, and then throw all the planning out the window bc i suck at thinking?
> 
> we both know the answer


End file.
